Trouble in Mudbug (Ghost-in-Law, #1)(2)

Sabine smirked. “Then he’ll collect momma’s money and work a deal with the local cops through Helena’s friend Judge Warner, and everything will be swept under the rug as usual.”

“Yeah, probably. But maybe I’ll finally get my divorce.”

Sabine’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t even thought of that, but you’re right. If someone grabs Hank, you can have him served.” She reached over and squeezed Maryse’s hand. “Oh, thank God, Maryse. You can finally be free.”

Maryse nodded as the song leader’s voice filtered through her head. What a mess she’d made of her life. She hadn’t even been married to Hank thirty days before he disappeared, leaving her holding the bag while numerous bookies and loan sharks came calling. If they’d lived in any other state but Louisiana, she would have already been divorced, but Louisiana, with its screwed-up throwback to Napoleonic law, had only two outs for a marriage—either you served papers or you produced a body. No exceptions.

She’d had no choice but to ask Helena for help. Hank hadn’t exactly borrowed money from the nicest of people, and if Maryse wanted to continue to live in Mudbug, she had to pay them off—pure and simple. That was two years ago, and despite the efforts of four private investigators and several angry friends, she hadn’t seen Hank Henry since. Oh, but she’d seen Helena.

Every other Friday at seven A.M., Helena appeared like clockwork at Lucy’s Café to collect on the debt Maryse owed her, along with the 25 percent interest she was charging. Now the old bat had the nerve to die when Maryse was only two payments short of eating breakfast in complete peace and quiet.

She turned her attention to the pastor as he took over at the front of the chapel. He began to read the standard funeral Bible verses, meant to persuade those in attendance that the person they loved had moved on to a better place. Maryse smirked at the irony. Mudbug was the better place now that Helena had exited. She cast her gaze once more to Helena, lying peacefully in her coffin…

That’s when Helena moved.

Maryse straightened in her pew, blinked once to clear her vision, and stared hard at Helena Henry. Surely it was a trick of the lights. Dead people didn’t move. Embalming and all that other icky stuff that happened at funeral homes took care of that, right?

Maryse had just about convinced herself that it was just a lights and shadows trick when Helena opened her eyes and raised her head. Maryse sucked in a breath and clenched her eyes shut, certain she was having a nervous breakdown that had been two years in the making. She waited several seconds, then slowly opened her eyes, silently praying that her mind was done playing tricks on her.

Apparently, it wasn’t.

Helena sat bolt upright in the coffin, looking around the chapel, a confused expression on her boldly painted face. Panicked, Maryse scanned the other attendees. Why wasn’t anyone screaming or pointing or running for the door? God knows, she hadn’t been to many funerals, but she didn’t remember the dead person ever sitting up to take part.

She felt a squeeze on her hand, and Sabine whispered, “Are you all right? You got really pale all of a sudden.”

Maryse started to answer, but then sucked in a breath as Helena pulled herself out of the coffin.

“Don’t you see that?” Maryse pointed to the front of the chapel. “Don’t you see what’s happening?”

Sabine cast a quick glance to the front of the chapel, then looked back at Maryse with concern—no fear, no terror…nothing to indicate that she saw anything amiss.

“See what?” Sabine asked. “Do we need to leave? You don’t look well.”

Maryse closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and dug her fingernails into her palms, steeling herself. Even though it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, she forced her gaze to the front of the chapel.

Yup, her nightmare was still there. And, just as in real life, she didn’t want to stay silent for long.

“What the hell is going on here, Pastor Bob? For Christ’s sake, I’m Catholic,” Helena ranted. “If this is some sort of weird Baptist ceremony, I don’t want any part of it.” Helena paused for a moment, but the pastor continued as if she’d never said a word.

Maryse stared, not blinking, not breathing, her eyes growing wider and wider until she felt as if they would pop out of her head.

Helena turned from the pastor and surveyed the attendees, narrowing her eyes. “Who dressed me like a hooker and shoved me in a coffin? I’ll have you all arrested is what I’ll do. Damn it, someone drugged me! What are you—some kind of weird cult?” She paced wildly in front of the coffin. “I’ll see every one of you *s in jail, especially you, Harold.” Helena stepped over to the nearest pew and reached for her husband, Harold, but her hands passed completely through him.

Helena stopped for a moment, then tried to touch Harold once more, but the result was exactly the same. She frowned and looked down at herself, then back at the coffin. Maryse followed her gaze and realized Helena’s body was still lying there—placid as ever.

Helena stared at herself for what seemed like forever, her eyes wide, her expression shocked. The pastor asked everyone to rise for prayer, and Maryse rose in a daze alongside Sabine, but she couldn’t bring herself to bow her head. Her eyes were permanently glued on the spectacle at the front of the chapel. The spectacle that apparently no one else could see.